I frown. “Why?”
“Because I avoid her at all costs.”
An unexpected laugh cracks out of me. “She’sthatbad?”
Carver actually smiles. It’s small, barely moving his mouth, but I still see it. “Maybe not. But when I want a drink tonight, I’ll think twice about going to get it.”
“And if you give in to the urge, she won’t give it back.” I know her well enough now to know that.
He chuckles, genuine humor rounding out the sound. “She’ll do something to distract me. Lecture me for a while. Kick me a few times. Probably set me on fire.”
“Then it’s a good thing you won’t be steeped in spirits,” I say dryly. “You’d go up in a snap.”
Carver straightens, dragging his face off my thighs. There are crease marks on his cheek and temple. His hair is completely flattened on one side and sticking straight up on the other where my fingers have been working through it. He’s still as handsome as they come, strong, loyal, and funny. I can’t understand Konstantina. How could she turn her back on a man like Carver? Did she regret it? Did she care that she was shattering him in the process?
I reach out and touch his whiskered cheek. “The people in your family love with everything they have. Look at your parents. At Griffin and me. You.” I don’t mention his sisters, even though their devotion is just as strong. The loves they’re harboring and the people they’re harboring them for aren’t any of Carver’s business until they decide it is. “But you made a mistake.”
His eyes search mine, questioning. He doesn’t draw away from my hand.
“You didn’t choose wisely. You gave your love to someone who wouldn’t, or couldn’t, give theirs fully back. Choose better next time. It’ll be worth it. It’ll change everything.”
He swallows. “You think there’ll be a next time?”
I nod.
“How do you know?” He sounds curious when I expected belligerence. Maybe, deep down, Carver hasn’t truly given up on love.
Lowering my hand, I look at him like he’s one Centaur short of a herd. “Soothsayer, remember? Iknowstuff.”
A spark of the old, always-teasing Carver brightens his face. “You’re a fake. With a fake crystal ball and a flashy sign.”
My mouth pops open in protest. “I amnota fake! And in this case, I’m not even just making things up.”
Carver arches both brows, clearly skeptical. Standing, he pulls me up with him. “I don’t blame you for what happened to Piers,” he suddenly says.
I freeze, something jolting in my chest. Carver has lost a lover and a brother. I pray he gains from now on, rather than loses more.
Carver kisses my forehead and then folds me into his long arms. “If Piers had bothered to get to know you, he would have loved you. He almost ruined a lot of lives because he refused to see past his own nose. Whatever he’s doing in Attica, I hope the next time he gets involved in something he doesn’t understand, he does what you just advised me to do—make a better choice.”
CHAPTER 19
Volunteers arrive daily, mostly from Sinta and Tarva. Our army doubles in size, which gives Kato and Flynn plenty to contend with. Carver dedicates himself to the Fisans with the single-mindedness of someone who wants to forget everything else, and I hardly see Griffin because he’s so busy overseeing it all. Everyone but me is exhausted. Even Bellanca finally dims to a soft glow from the sheer fatigue of trying to wring useful magic out of people who don’t have very much.
My days consist of walking around, a crown on my head and Ianthe’s pearls at my belt, waving, nodding encouragement, and trying to look regal—if dusty. Being seen and not getting into any trouble seem to be all anyone needs or wants of me at the moment, leaving me bored, increasingly restless, and privately grumpy.
But while the inaction grates on me, I know this is the time we need to take in order to get the army fully equipped and into fighting shape. And more importantly—into a cohesive unit. The already mixed Tarvans and Sintans come together fairly easily. They’re mainly soldiers to begin with, or at least men and women with fighting experience. The Fisans mostly have no military background and some magic, setting them apart in all ways. And while I’m careful to spend equal time among the groups and to encourage them to mix together, my heart calls me toward the Fisans. Maybe they need me more. Or maybe I know what it’s like to not fit in.
Little Bean is hardly showing, but she certainly isn’t a secret anymore. I can barely move without dozens of people asking me if they should carry me on a litter, or bring me water, or go get the King. It’s incredibly annoying. Do I look like my feet don’t work? Do I look like I’m about to faint? Do I look like I need Griffin’s help to take the last two steps to the bloody chair that’salwayswaiting for me wherever I go?
By the end of each day, I’m growling to myself and ready to explode. But each day I sit, because that’s what’s expected of me, and I grind out a smile as I plant my bottom in the chair, because that’s what’s expected of me, too.
My knife hand starts to twitch more often, and the rest of me feels like it needs to take off at a run. Not to run away. Just tomove. I’m trying to give the soldiers what they want, what seems to motivate them, but it’s strange and hard to reconcile. The warrior princess inspired them. Rallied them. The pregnant Queen had better sit down and fan herself, or the world might end. It makes no sense. Then again, human emotion rarely does.
People definitely look at me differently than they ever have before. I think it’s because of that very first day when we arrived at the army camp, and I humbled myself on my knees in front of a Fisan shepherd. Sure, I killed a Cyclops, but almost no one here actually saw that. Their first real impression of me came from watching a small woman dressed in regular clothing sedately ride into camp and then kneel in the dirt among her people, among Thalyrians. On my knees, I humanized myself in their eyes. In an instant, the legend got eclipsed by the person, while Griffin remains larger than life to them.
Was it a mistake? I don’t know. I don’t think so. I didn’t do it on purpose, that’s for sure. But I feel the difference everywhere around me—in looks, in whispers, in hearts and eyes. Before, these soldiers would have fought to please and impress me. Now, they’ll fight to protect me. I think I know what’s worth more.
And that’s why I let myself get plunked down in this bloody chair, day in and day out. Because it makes these people happy to take care of me. Because it makes them feel like there’s something they’ve already won—me. I’m theirs. I’m everyone’s. I’m Elpis.
